Moth

Terrified and fluttering about at  silent corners
His pygmy antennas  softly raised as antlers
He is begging around in a cry of indulgence
To be never betrayed by his magnificence

Makeshift butterfly by the day bothered
To become  invisible in the scenery melted
He alights  and awaits  until the start of the moon
That the night fills him up with the strength of childhood

On the morning the sun doesn't find any print
Of his jerks in the dark by the light turned to tint
Hiding there in a cape of silence like a queen
He wishfuls the sunset for an ephemeral win

Every night he marries new anthers and flowers
By the day threatened like all nocturnal lovers
Without an attempt to dream of other  space
Than the one he received from Morpheus first place

Midnight butterfly with so fragile armors
He often finishes pined up on walls or wood
And the mad appraisal of reckless collectors
Leave them passing away in a bath of pale blood

Eleanor Gabriel